


Love At First Butt Drawing

by keptin (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Nude Modeling, combeferre goes to art class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/keptin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It Is Decided that Combeferre needs a hobby and so he agrees to go with Grantaire to a figure drawing class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love At First Butt Drawing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youarekillianmehugh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youarekillianmehugh/gifts).



“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Combeferre was following Grantaire down the street, past a shoe store and a Starbucks and a few cafés, heading towards the little art store at the corner. Grantaire just nodded, which didn’t really tell Combeferre much. This had been Grantaire’s idea in the first place, actually; both Enjolras and Joly agreed that Combeferre was spending way too much time studying and it was making him tense. He needed something to do that wasn’t watching random documentaries at 4 AM.

Grantaire was the one who had suggested figure drawing classes. It was a program run by the owners of the art store, and Grantaire taught a figure drawing class there on Friday evenings. It was good for unwinding, he had said; it was a class for beginners, so there were no judgments about drawing skill or expecting the students to become professional artists. And it was free, save buying a sketchbook and some pencils. Combeferre felt weird walking down the street with a sketchbook and pencil pouch tucked under his arm like he was going to go sketch by the fountain or something. He really didn’t look the art student type, with his nicely-creased khakis and plaid button-down. Grantaire definitely looked more the type, but that could be partially because Combeferre knew he was an art student and automatically associated him with art things. There was a little orange paint stain caught in his stubble, and Grantaire scratched at it.

“I’m telling you, dude, you’re gonna have a good time,” Grantaire assured him with an encouraging smile as he held the door open. “And if you don’t, you don’t have to come back. Bahorel could probably teach you how to knit, if that’s more up your alley.”

“I don’t think art is exactly ‘up my alley’,” replied Combeferre as he stepped into the stairwell and walked up to the upstairs studio. Grantaire followed behind him with heavy footsteps, laughing. Maybe he thought Combeferre was joking.

There were already a few people in the small studio when they got there. Combeferre took a seat by the window, the cold air giving him goosebumps on the back of his neck, but it was a much safer option than sitting right up by the wooden platform the model was going to be standing on. Grantaire waved to the people who were already there, leaning against the front table and chatting with them; Combeferre wished he could have that same kind of easy rapport with them. He didn’t like feeling new, it highlighted the fact that he was out of place.

People trickles in in dribs and drabs, eventually filling up all fifteen stools in the room. Grantaire grinned broadly, stretching his arms out as he greeted the class.

“Evening, folks!” he said, looking perfectly at home. “It’s the end of a long week, yeah? Hope it went okay for everyone. Thankfully it’s the start of the weekend right now, so you all can wind down a little.”

There was a chorus of cheers and a few sympathetic groans; Grantaire clapped a hand over his heart and looked at the ceiling.

“I’m so glad I dropped out of college, honestly,” he said. “Okay, today we’re going to have another model come in. You know the drill by now, yeah? They come in, get naked, and we do two five-minute sketches, two ten-minute sketches, and one half-hour drawing.”

He grabbed a blue marker and wrote down everything on the board:

2 FIVE-MINUTES

2 TEN-MINUTES

1 HALF-HOUR

DOES THAT ADD UP TO AN HOUR HONESTLY I DIDN’T PASS ALGEBRA 4

As Grantaire wrote the last line on the board, footsteps echoed from the stairwell. A head of auburn curls peeked around the corner, caught Grantaire’s eyes, and flashed a grin before a man stepped into the room. He was around Combeferre’s age, maybe a year younger at the most, and he looked like he was made of sunshine. He practically skipped to the front of the room, a bounce to his step that made even walking look like dancing, and waved at the class.

“Hey, this is my friend Courf,” Grantaire said, wrapping an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “Chetta couldn’t come in today, she has work, but thankfully this little dude volunteered to model today.”

The man—Courf, was that his name?—smiled again, warmer than the cheeky grin he had flashed at Grantaire, and set his bag on the ground by the front table.

“Hi, my name’s Antoine Courfeyrac,” he introduced himself with a bright smile; Combeferre couldn’t help but notice there was a gap between his front teeth. And then he started undressing; he seemed perfectly at ease getting naked in front of fifteen people, whereas Combeferre felt weird even being in the same room as a naked person. It was one thing when he was attending to a patient, but when it was someone he was supposed to look at and draw for an hour…

 Combeferre hardly noticed when Grantaire said to start, he was so focused on watching Courfeyrac step up to the shallow platform in the center of the room and strike a pose. It was a relaxed pose, one hip cocked—and, oh, “cocked” was such a bad way to put it— with one hand settled against it like some sort of Greek statue, and Combeferre scrambled to begin drawing. It seemed like Grantaire called time instantly after that.

“That’s good, Ferre,” Grantaire told him, looking over Combeferre’s shoulder at his sketchbook, the page smudged with pencil. “You’ve got to pace yourself, though. You know you’ve got five minutes, right? Try doing a really rough sketch of his whole figure, and then go back and add more detail to the entire thing. Like you’re working in layers rather than jumping right into detail.”

Combeferre nodded, looking at his drawing; the model’s face was detailed and sort-of-shaded (if you could really call it shading), his neck and shoulders were outlined, and the rest of him was like a stick figure. Looking back up, Combeferre’s cheeks burned when Courfeyrac flashed him a friendly smile. Nothing lewd or suggestive, it was just a smile like “Hi, good evening.” But that didn’t negate the fact that he literally wasn’t wearing anything at all. Inwardly, Combeferre cursed how comfortable Courfeyrac seemed with this whole “nude modeling” thing. It was just making things a lot more difficult for him. Thank goodness for small mercies, though, as Courfeyrac turned away from him for the next pose; now Combeferre would have to try very, very hard so he didn’t just end up with a detailed picture of Courfeyrac’s ass.

The class was over before he even realized it had ended. He was just putting the finishing touches on a thirty-minute drawing—a little shading here, some texture there—when suddenly he noticed people were packing their things up and leaving, and Courfeyrac was stepping back into his underwear and jeans. Grantaire, leaning against the front table, was watching both of them, his eyes going back and forth between Combeferre and Courfeyrac as a small, mischievous smile settled on his face. Finally, Combeferre started to pack his things away, putting his sketchbook and pencil case back in his bag and pushing his stool to where the others were along the wall of the studio. Courfeyrac waved goodbye and left, fully-clothed and chipper as ever; Combeferre was almost disappointed to see him go.

“He’s single, you know.”

Combeferre spun around, his face going red as he shot an ineffectual glare at Grantaire.

“Well, that’s his business,” he replied. “Why are you telling me this?”

Grantaire shrugged, getting his bag from behind the table, but it was obvious he had a motive, and Combeferre knew what it was. “Just thought you’d like to know, is all.”

Combeferre’s blush darkened, and he feigned disinterest.

“Oh, come on, you liked him,” Grantaire needled him. “You liiiiiiiked himmmmmm…”

“Yes, I did like him, he was a very pleasant person,” Combeferre snapped. “He was charming, and he seemed cheerful, and he was handsome.”

Seemingly satisfied by Combeferre’s admission, Grantaire nodded.

“He’s a pretty cool guy,” he said, less teasing now and more sincere. “Volunteers a lot. And…”

He passed Combeferre a slip of paper; when Combeferre unfolded it, there was a phone number and a tiny doodle of Courfeyrac’s head in the corner. He found himself smiling a little, and Grantaire wiggled his eyebrows.

“All I’m trying to say is it can’t hurt to try,” he said as Combeferre pocketed the paper.

 

* * *

 

[11:43 PM]

[to: Courfeyrac]

_Hi, this is Combeferre from the art class today, Grantaire gave me your number?_

 

[11:45 PM]

[from: Courfeyrac]

_Hey Combeferre! Yeah, I told him to give my number to the hot dude with the glasses._

 

[11:45 PM]

[to: Courfeyrac]

_That’s_

 

[11: 45 PM]

[to: Courfeyrac]

_I’m flattered?_

 

[11:46 PM]

[from: Courfeyrac]

_Haha I definitely mean it as a compliment._

 

[11:53 PM]

[to: Courferyac]

_I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee sometime?_

 

[11:54 PM]

[from: Courfeyrac]

_Sure! When & where?_

 

[11:56 PM]

[to: Courfeyrac]

_What about Café Musain, at 11 AM tomorrow?_

 

[11:56 PM]

[to: Courfeyrac]

_Or any other day it fine, if tomorrow doesn’t work._

 

[11:57 PM]

[from: Courfeyrac]

_Tomorrow is fine! I’ll see you then?_

 

[11:57 PM]

[to: Courfeyrac]

_Sounds good :)_

 

[11:58 PM]

[from: Courfeyrac]

_< 3_

 

* * *

 

_ _


End file.
